Phone Call
by reallly
Summary: At the end of the "Asylum" the cellphone rings, but this time it's not John. Or, in which Adam's mom dies during Season One, and he meets his brothers sooner than expected. [ no slash, spoilers ] [[ DISCONTINUED ]]
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N:** _Takes place between 1.10 "Asylum" and 1.11 "Scarecrow". Spoilers, kinda.

 _ **Adam is 15.** _I was thinking about how Adam said, "He bought me my first beer when I was fifteen." Then I thought, 'that would've been in Season 1', and came up with this.

* * *

" _If this is an emergency, call my son, Dean. 785-555-0179, he can help_."

 _Buzzz. Buzzz._

The sound stopped for a second, and Sam Winchester groaned awake. His eyes cracked opened slightly, eyelids heavy and weighing them down. He didn't have to glance over his shoulder to know whose phone it was.

"Dean." Sam managed, voice strained. His attempt was met by a snore from his brother, who laid passed out in the bed a few feet away. Man, he wasn't lying when he'd said he'd been tired.

 _Buzz. Buzz._

Again. Yet another time, Sam groaned. Maybe slightly louder. Slightly more annoyed. He ran a hand across his face, feeling his hair as it stuck up in a weird directions. Preparing himself for the chill his un-blanketed arm would bring down his body, he sucked in a breath. Then quickly reached over, grabbing the cellphone from the bedside table and flipped it open.

"Hello?" He asked. There was no hiding the fact he'd just woken up in his voice. Beside him, Sam heard the ruffling of Dean's sheets, followed by a gurgled awakening.

Whoever occupied the other line took a second to reply. " _Yeah, hey."_ It sounded like a younger man, seemingly early-twenties to mid-twenties, maybe. Somewhat polite, Sam noted. A little unsure of what he was doing. " _This is..um.."_ There was a pause as if he'd forgotten the name, " _Dean?"_

Sam hesitated for a second. Being a hunter, the first thing you learn is not to give out personal information. At least not to just anyone. Names would be included. Things like this could bite you in your ass in the future, given to the wrong people that was. Despite this, the fact that someone knew Dean's name didn't mean anything. It could be any sort of trick. Some sort of creature was trying to pull on them. He didn't fall into traps that easily.

"No.." Sam didn't lie, he wasn't Dean. Though he made a point not a elaborate from there. By now, he was fully awake, and had sit up a bit on the bed as Dean rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.

" _Oh.."_ The line went silent again, this time for a little longer. " _Would you happen to be of relation to a John Winchester?"_

Suddenly, Sam could feel his heart beating in his ear. Call it jumping to conclusions, but this is just what Dean and himself had been talking about. Dad being dead. It wasn't impossible, at least to anyone but Dean (who seemed to still think the man was invincible).Was it happening now? At this moment? Was this the doctor calling for them to identify the body? Had John finally...no. Sam wasn't taking into account the other factors. If dad was dead, how could the doctor possibly know his last name? Dad _never_ used his real last name. His ID probably said Bert Afraiham, or something like that. It couldn't be.

"Who is this?" Sam questioned, voice guarded. Slightly anxious now, though it wasn't too prevalent.

Before the other line could respond, Sam heard a muffled, "Who is it, Sammy?" coming from Dean's direction.

Ignoring Dean, it didn't take long for the guy on the other line to reply. " _Sorry."_ He apologized, supposedly for not introducing himself sooner, " _My name is Chris... I work for Child Protective Services in Windom, Minnesota. I'm calling to speak to a John Winchester. I couldn't reach him on his line. His voicemail said to call you.."_ He seemed slightly uncertain.

Sam let out a silent breath of relief. "Yeah." Before thinking it over, "He's out of town." Best possible response.

Dean was now sitting up, looking at Sam intently for some information of who he was chatting with. Not that Sam was going to say anything until the conversation was over, never-the-less give the phone to Dean.

" _Oh."_ Chris replied. " _Well, we've got his son here."_

His heart beat picked up again. Though now, Sam was sure he couldn't feel his hand holding onto the phone anymore. His body was shock still. "I'm sorry- What do you mean?" Sam asked, unable to grasp what had just been said.

" _Adam Milligan, his son."_ Chris continued, " _His mother Kate Milligan recently passed. Legally we are required to give rights to the other parent, in this case the...uh, father, since Adam is under eighteen. I'd be happy to speak with John once he gets back, unless you could direct me to another number..?"_ As Sam stayed quiet, Chris continued, " _If no one accepts custody, Adam will end up in the foster care system."_

Sam could feel his wide eyes, words lost in his throat. He didn't know what to say. What to feel. How to say it or feel it. It was something he never would've thought could happen. A moment the twenty-two year old couldn't have predicted. Was he angry? Upset? Confused? Sad? _Shocked_? None. It kind of felt like his mind had gone blank.

That was until Dean snatched the phone, finally fed up with being ignored. Leaving Sam still frozen, hand that had previously held the cellphone slowly dropping to his lap. "Who is this?" He questioned, even more guarded than Sam before him. Noticeably less friendly.

Sam turned, watching as Dean's face dropped from frustrated to pale white. He could only hear one side of the conversation, but Sam could knew what was being said. Could _easily_ guess what was going through Dean's head.

* * *

Two hours later, they were speeding down a highway. Minnesota was a _big_ back track...not that they had any other options. They'd tried dad, _again_. Oh so many times they'd tried. Dean leaving overly frustrated voicemails that Sam only caught half of. Though desperately they both just wanted to talk to him.

Sam didn't know what they were expecting to hear. Maybe Dad come out and tell them that it was all a set up. That this Adam character was a monster, and he had it all figured out.

It didn't happen though. No explanation, just silence and a cold realization. John had dropped off the face of the earth, and he had _another_ kid. It was enough to make Sam pissed. And boy, did it. Not as much as Dean, though. The older Winchester hadn't said a word since his last angry voicemail. Knuckles white as they gripped the steering wheel, eyes straight ahead at the dark road. Sam wanted to say it made sense, because it did. At the same time though, it didn't. So he didn't say anything.

It was after they realized John wasn't picking up that they'd both thrown there stuff into the trunk of the Impala and ditched the motel. No other real options besides heading straight to Windom. At least not for Dean. To Dean, it could go two ways. This was either the same son-of-a-bitch monster using this as a trap to get to Sam and Dean and bait Dad. That, of course, would mean both Sam and Dean have to go and kill whatever mother was trying to pull that off. Or, the other option. This in fact _was_ their brother...a word that felt weird, even in Sam's head, refering to someone else. If that was the case, well, they couldn't just leave him...

Right?

The road was bumpy and uneven. Luckily, this late at night there were barley any cars, meaning no traffic. Though there was no way Sam was getting any sleep. His eyes were wide open, and it wasn't because every minute his head slammed into the window. Sam kind of wished he could fall asleep. Forever, maybe. At least long enough until this was over. At this point the tension in the car was so thick it made Sam's ears want to explode. They didn't. He just wished Dean would turn on some music.

 _Jesus, that was a first._ Sam shook his head.

Their Dad was a widow, not a monk. It wasn't like he was bound to their Mom forever. The fact that a kid had been the product of that was what got Sam the most. He hated the hunting life, God knows he did. Growing up was a nightmare. Bringing another kid into it was just...cruel. Though in Dean's eyes, Sam could see something else. Dean was hard to read sometimes. When he got really angry, he had this extremely focused, emotionless sort of expression. The last time Sam had seen that look was 10th grade, when Toby Jameson had ripped Sam a new one in the parking lot. Despite this, knowing Dean all these years it was easy to tell what he was most pissed about.

The kid, sure. That probably got Dean's blood flowing a bit, to be honest. The thought that there could be _another_ child of John Winchester. A child who they hadn't known about, apparently for years. Though Sam could tell that wasn't the worst of it. The worst part for Dean was the thought that John could ever be unfaithful to Mary. As if she was still alive. As if that was something liable for John to be unfaithful to.

Still, Sam didn't say anything. It was better not to. Both of them stared at the dark drifting road as the car sped, waiting for the other to make a sound.

* * *

Dean drove through all of the next day, never switching off the wheel to Sam. About four hours into the trip Sam had lamely suggested they stop and take a break, just to cool the air and try Dad again. Dean hadn't responded. They'd kept driving. By now it was 4:50 in the morning. Still dark outside, and absent of cars. They'd made it to Windom, which was small and overly freezing this time of year. Fortunetly there wasn't any snow.

The address Chris had given them for his office was scribbled messily on a scrap peice of paper. It sat on the center console. Every once in a while Dean'd slow down, glance at what was written, and check out their surroundings. This went on for about a few minutes, though before Sam could comment on the fact that they'd gone in two circles, Dean pulled up to the small office. Lucky too. Dean didn't seem in the mood to deal with Sam's smartass mouth.

"Common." Dean grounded, eyes on the two story office building as he kicked open the Impala door and pushed himself out.

Sam followed closely behind. He could tell his brother had a gun stuck in the back of his jeans, hidden by the leather jacket he wore. Sam had one himself.

They walked inside to step onto carpet. Sam was just surprised the building was open this early. It was a small reception room, with a little desk which was neatly placed with files. An archway halfway behind the desk led to an unseen bigger room, which was aligned with offices. Another office, accompanied by a low hanging screen in the door's window stood near the entrance. This one had a plaque on it, obviously belonging to some manager. It smelled like old Halloween candy and a cheap heater.

A lady sat at the front desk, re-positioning a small stuffed animal bear and framed photo (seemingly of her family) next to the many files.

"May I help you?" The lady asked, glancing up as she spotted them walking in. She was in her mid-thirties with dark brown hair and rosey cheeks. Kind, that's one word that someone could describe the voice.

Dean wasn't in the mood. "We're here for John Winchester." He anwsered shortly, half glancing around the archway, as if to check if there was anything hiding back in some of the offices. Then, when he spotted nothing, walked over to the desk and finally made eye contact with the woman. Full attention.

She cleared her throat lightly, "Right. Adam Milligan?" She asked it like a question. Neither of them responded, so she continued, "I'll just need to see one of your I.D.s."

Shoving a hand into his jacket pocket, Dean pulled out his wallet and began quickly shuffling around in it (over the many fake I.D.s him and dad got every year.) This went on about a minute, before he came up with nothing and opened his mouth. Though before Dean could say something exasperated, that they'd both regret, Sam cut in, "I've got mine."

He himself pulled out his wallet, and quicker than Dean had found his real I.D., handing it to the receptionist with a slight smile. "Sorry." He apologized, though he wasn't quiet sure what it was for.

She shook her head, as if to say 'no need', and gave a quick look at Sam and the card a couple times over. "Looks good." She handed it back to him, with a smile. "I'll call down for you."

She picked up the office phone, clicking a button and began, "Hey Meghan, I've got two men here to pick Adam Milligan up." She glanced at them for a second, "Yes, they both check out. If you could send him down that'd be great. Thanks, hun." With that she placed the phone back where it was, hanging up. Sam and Dean didn't move from where they stood. As the receptionist began typing on her computer, she paused and looked up at them, "Um, it might be a second." Followed by a half laugh.

Sam awkwardly laughed back, making his way over to the sofa on the other wall. Dean hadn't been listening. Mainly he was too busy staring intently at the archway. Though when he saw Sam moving in the other direction, followed him, and sat down.

It didn't take a second. It took ten. They both sat, Dean tapping his foot up and down at the carpet as his knee bounced. Nodding his head slightly every once and a while as he kept his eyes trained throughout the room. That was until Sam nudged him to stop, utterly annoyed by the constant tapping. Sam himself sat on the edge of the sofa, ready to leave. Both his elbows rested on either knee, hands togethor twisting as he watched the floor. So, they waited.

Finally, they heard footsteps. Simultaneously both Sam and Dean glanced up to see...young Dean. Or what came so close to looking like a fifteen year old version of Dean Winchester that Sam almost got deja vu.

His hair was the same. At least, in style. Pushed up, though maybe a bit longer, a bit messier. Too blonde to be Dean's hair, but close. In some parts, it was darker. Others sported bright highlighted streaks. The type that people always said the sun caused. His skin was slightly tanner than it should be for someone who lives in Minnesota, something Sam guessed was possibly genetic. Though it lacked any _real_ color. As if he hadn't been in the actual sun in a while. His eyes were a bright blue, mixed in with a little bit of the green that most of all three Winchester men wore. Lanky and tall, all arms and legs like Sam'd been. His eye brows were darker than his hair, and slightly creased. Jawline the same as Dean and Sam's, except somehow a little bit softer and thinner. Maybe slightly longer. And right on his upper lip there was a small white scar. Sam couldn't help but wonder what that was from.

His clothing was nothing out of the ordinary. A faded light red sweatshirt with no hood, a bit big on his body. It had grey logo in the front, probably for some college that Sam didn't recognize. His choice of pants were unconventional for the weather, being black basketball shorts that stopped just a bit above his knee. Sam wondered if the kid played basketball. His white socks were scrunched up, and hanging low. And finally worn looking Nike shoes, a faded and worn black color.

Dean slowly stood, then Sam who realized Dean had stood and followed. Both expressions were different. Sam's heartfelt, understanding, maybe a little sentimental in back of the awe on how much the kid looked like...well, John's kid. Dean was different. Guarded, tightly held, and frowning deeper than he had been before. Sam could see the recognition in his eyes, but Dean wouldn't acknowledge that. At least not now. He was too busy with his 'sizing up' sort of offset.

"Where's my dad?" Adam asked, first person to speak after a long moment of silence. His voice was raspy. Half of that was probably from the length of this night and lack of water intake. The other was just puberty. Though the undertone of his words sounded slightly anxious, maybe even desperate. He didn't look at Sam or Dean when he said this. Instead the lady standing next to him, who'd been following closely behind when he walked into view.

The Child Services lady opened her mouth, ready to respond (probably with some non-answer), but Dean cut her off firmly. "He couldn't make it today."

Adam's eyes shifted to Dean. They stared for a second or two, Dean's eyes still hard and unwavering. Adam's seemingly trying to match that, and only slightly failing. He was a kid, after all. "Who're you?" It didn't seem exactly friendly.

The tensions in the room were high. Even the Child Services workers were shifting feet. So Sam stepped in, with a consoling voice. On neither side, he spoke in a nicer tone, "Uh, Adam, right?" The boy didn't respond, so Sam cleared his throat, "I'm Sam, this is my brother Dean." Dean didn't move, "We're John Winchester's sons."

A mix of emotions ran across the fifteen-year-old's face. Some of which Sam didn't catch. Others looking desperate to hang on to something, after the loss of his mother. "...I've got brothers?" His tone was hopeful, words almost choked.

Dean snorted, voice lost in his own throat. Though he didn't have any intention of replying. Not while the CPS was in the room.

"Alright, Adam!" The lady announced, trying for a wide smile and cheerful voice. She was attempting to lighten the mood, Sam suspected. Be happy about the new realization _for_ Adam. It didn't seem to be working. "Got all your stuff ready?"

Instead of anwsering, Adam pulled the strap of his black backpack tighter against his palm.

Dean's eyes finally dropped from Adam's gaze, and with a quick look at Sam he muttered, "I'll be in the car." The small bell on the door jingled as it slid shut. Again, silence.

Sam, caught himself clearing his throat. This time more to gain everyone's attention. Though there was another factor, the slight fear that if he didn't he'd trip up on his words entirely. "The car's outside.." He suggested, as if to announce that they could leave at any moment, and Adam was not bound to this one room. He still seemed hesitant.

The Social Services lady grabbed his sleeve lightly, causing Adam to turn and face her. "Hey," She said, slightly softer. She'd dropped the overly cheerful facade. "If you need anything, or something happens.." She gave Sam a half glance, which she probably didn't mean for him to notice, but he did. "...call us, okay?" With that she handed him a business card.

Adam glanced down at it, shoving the thing into a pocket in his shorts Sam hadn't seen until now.

With that, he began making his way towards the door.


	2. Chapter 2

The car was silent. Mainly from the fact that an additional member had been added, who now sat in the Impala's back seat. Dean still wasn't playing music. Sam couldn't help himself from glancing behind his seat every minute or so. And Adam? He looked to be fighting off sleep. His eyes were gloomy, head hanging slightly, with a defiant refusal to make contact with anything but the dashboard.

They were all tired.

For the hour they'd been driving since Adam got into the car, no one had said a word. Maybe not since the first few minutes of Sam half heartedly trying to make conversation. His questions has been given no answer. Sam had stopped trying soon, though it wasn't because every time he tried to talk to Adam Dean's grip on the steering wheel tightened.

He wasn't sure Dean even knew where he was going. Dad hadn't called back. Sam wasn't going to get any sudden hunting jobs from his friends. They were in the dark about almost everything.

The most logical thing Sam could think to do was find another motel, but Dean wasn't taking any suggestions at this time. Until another half-an-hour passed, and Sam decided, "Why don't we stop and get something to eat."

His voice was a calming presence in the car. He tried not to make it sound annoyed at Dean. Though the tension in the car was still clear, despite the fact that neither Dean nor Adam had said anything to each other.

Dean'd already muttered _Christo_ under his breath a couple times, with no reaction from Adam. That was Sam's turn to give Dean the, "Seriously, stop." look, to which Dean just ignored, eyes still glued to the road. Sam could tell he still didn't believe Adam was actually there brother. He wouldn't believe it. Not until Dad said something.

It took a second for the oldest Winchester to respond. "Didn't see anything I liked. We'll stop later."

Frowning deeply, Sam replied, tone getting less calm than before, "No, I think we should probably stop now. I'm pretty hungry."

"Sammy—" Dean's voice sounded exasperated and annoyed, as he turned to look at Sam's face...and cut himself off. "Alright, jesus." He took a breath, eyes back on the road, "I'll find something up here."

Sam silently rejoiced in the win, turning back to Adam who'd glanced up slightly to finally meet Sam's eyes. "Where'd you wanna eat, Adam?" Sam questioned, hoping his voice sounded inviting enough to bring Adam into other conversations.

Unfortunately Dean ruined it before it could start. Adam hadn't even opened his mouth when Dean cut everyone off with a cold, "I said _I'll_ find something." Adam's eyes fell back onto the dashboard.

* * *

They stopped at a small red diner called "Jimmy's Breakfast, Lunch, & Dinner". The word 'dinner' looking like it's been quickly painted over a few days ago, after previously fading away.

Dean'd been attracted to the 'best pie in the state' sign. One that almost every diner in the area had on display, though his brother never seemed to notice. All Sam cared about was finally having some food.

Adam was the last to exit the car, and seemingly had to remind himself not to take his backpack inside. Dean had already walked ahead of both of them, most likely to grab a table. Sam hung back.

His newly found half-brother didn't bear any mind to Sam, instead following straight into the resturaunt as well. Taking a long breath, Sam walked inside.

Classic, small, cheap...it was nothing new. Nothing Sam wasn't expecting, or hadn't seen before. They were the types of off-the-road, family run diners Sam'd been eating at since he could consume hamburgers. Not the best health choices, but his Dad was a hunter. No one was really shopping healthy in that line of business.

Dean was in the process of sliding into a booth. It was particularly selected in the back of the restaurant, so he could keep a close eye on the comings and goings. Obviously Dean sat in the seat facing the door. Adam followed, sitting in the booth across from him. Sam watched as Dean's eyes glanced up at Adam, before they traveled down to his menu quickly. Sam sat next to Adam. Purposefully.

Picking up the menu, it weighed a bit in Sam's hands. He glanced across the appetizers, entrees, and deserts. Most of which consisted of some type of meat, except the salad. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Adam uncomfortably adjusting his position in the booth.

"So..." He caught the attention of Adam, "What are you thinking?" The kid gave a light shrug, frowning at the menu.

Suddenly, Dean's phone rang. It was in that sudden instant that Dean jumped from the booth, pressing accept on the call and rushing out of resturaunt. The last thing Sam heard as the door closed behind his brother was a muffled, "Dad?"

Sam quickly shot up to follow Dean outside, when he remembered Adam. The boy was looked at him quizzically.

"Uh..." Sam looked from Adam to the door, biting his lip in decision. "Stay here." He finally said, eyes back on Adam. "If the waiter shows up, just...get whatever you want. Okay?"

With that he was out of the resturaunt, pushing past the door to find Dean pacing around the corner. Phone to his ear.

"I don't understand." Dean said, voice frustrated. "What are you trying to say?"

Sam couldn't hear the other line, but from what he could tell the conversation wasn't going as Dean had expected at all. "Is that dad?" Sam asked. Dean's eyes glanced at him for a second, before getting back into the conversation.

"You can't..." Dean paused, conflicted. Seemingly he didn't want to argue. Sam knew Dean, and Dean wasn't one to challenge their dad's orders. Of course, unless absolutely nessasary.

"Let me talk to him." Sam tried, but it was a weak attempt. Even Sam knew that.

Dean continued to ignore Sam. Notedly, his voice lowered. "You can't just leave us with this, alright? It's like... _what the hell_."

Sam cringed. As Dean continued to listen, his face went void of emotion. Almost sullen. With a straight face, he took a deep breath. "Sorry sir." He said, a bit slower. After another pause adding, "I know."

After that it takes a couple more seconds before the oldest Winchester brother shoves the phone back into his pocket. Distraught, was maybe the correct word to use. Even misguided.

"What'd he say?" Sam asked. He had an idea.

Dean cleared his throat evenly, "Adam's his."

"Is he—"

"No." Dean interrupted, "He's not coming. He's busy. Got some leads on the thing that killed mom. He wants us to keep up hunting, and look after Adam. Least until he can show."

Sam scoffed, "Dean, you can't be serious." He tried, as Dean's eyes glanced at anything but Sam. "You can't...Dad can't do this to us. He can't just leave us with this non-answer. Where _is_ he?"

"He didn't say."

"If he's got a lead on what killed mom, then we should be there. _I_ should be there." Sam could feel himself getting worked up, and for effect he pointed specifically at his chest.

With no response, he continued, "This didn't just happen once. Jess was a victim too. I can't sit back and wait for this thing to happen to someone else. I won't sit back and watch, not even if dad thinks he's got the hang of things. What if something happens to him? He needs back up."

Dean said, "Sammy, calm down, okay? He's protecting us. He doesn't want us to get hurt."

"I don't care if I get hurt!" Sam shouted.

"Yeah, well I do!" And with that the conversation was over. Dean's voice had escalated above Sam's, something that occurred so quickly they hadn't even realized it'd gotten that bad. Slowly, their heavy breathing subsided.

Dean stormed back into the resturaunt without another word.

Sam was pissed, he had to admit that. This was the thing that killed his mom. Killed Jess. He wasn't there then. He had to be there now. At least to see the thing suffer. Dean didn't get that, though. Not like Sam did. Sure, he wanted revenge. But that was just what he's inherited from dad. Sam's was fresh. New. Ready to kill anything that was pushing against it.

He _would_ be there. But now, as Dean'd left it, the conversation had closed.

* * *

That's the second time today Dean Winchester had felt like he was about to burst, and when Sam had started getting worked up too, it'd been the last straw.

His Dad's clear cut words still echoed in his head. "This is above you, Dean. Look after Adam, keep Sammy in check. I'll be back as soon as possible." Like the weight on his shoulders had just gotten a thousand times heavier. Even at twenty-six, he was still that same eleven-year-old that his Father left alone with forty dollars and a little brother for a week.

The well-being of Sam wasn't the only thing he had to worry about. No. Now there was this other kid. Oh, and yeah, he's your brother too.

Man, the things he wanted to say to his Dad. The things he couldn't bring his mouth to speak. The things he shamed himself for even thinking because he knew his Dad. He knew John Winchester was doing it to protect them, and he respected that. Then again, he didn't. Not when the protection barrier was broken by another child dumped into the mix.

Why? Why now? First Sammy lost that apple-pie life Dean'd so desperately wanted him to have, and now another brother cursed under the Winchester family name forever. Why?

Dean tried to swallow his thoughts. His head was starting to hurt, anyways.

On his journey back to their booth, he came to find Adam...eating a big bacon cheeseburger. Not only that, but seemingly flirting with the red headed waitress that leaned over the table and grinned as Adam spoke, his mouth full of food. She was the type Dean'd go for. Busty, slim, laughs at anything. Around Dean's age. Just as Mr. Macho took another sip of his soda, Dean got close enough for them to take notice.

The waitress, in spotting him, grinned at Dean with a bright face full of laughter, and said, "Your little brother is so cute."

Dean didn't know how to respond. Adam, however, had quit smiling. It almost seemed as if the food tasted sour in his mouth from her words. "I'm fifteen." He stated.

With that, red-head laughed one more time, giving his hair a ruffle like his babysitter.

Dean looked at Adam incredulously, who'd gone back to the "I hate everything" loathing look on his face. He still wouldn't meet Dean's gaze. In fact, the more Dean stared at the sullen expression the more it reminded him of something he'd seen many times before. A young Sam Winchester, stuck in the back of the Impala as he's dragged to another town, forced to leave everything he'd built in that month behind. More so, being forced onto a hunt.

Though the recognition passed quickly, and Dean got rid of the thought. He cleared his throat as the waitress's eyes fell to him once again.

"We'll take the check."

* * *

Dean practically shoved the car door open, heading straight for the trunk.

Sam had been averting eye contact with him the whole ride. Not that it hid much of what he was obviously feeling. Sam was never good at hiding his emotions. Dean always wondered if Sam himself considered that a bad thing. He was still overly agitated, not to mention the obvious thought playing on the tip of his tongue. He desperately wanted to bring the argument up once again, but wouldn't as he recalled their new backseat passenger.

Adam himself had been unsurprisingly quiet. Only half his bacon cheese burger had been eaten once they left, but he didn't seem to mind. Even if he did, he didn't show it. Sam hadn't said anything either as Dean had accepted the check and quickly payed. He sort of regretted not eating anything now, but he'd ignore his stomach this once.

It was almost 8:45 p.m.. Today was beating down on everyone like a thunderstorm. Dean could sense it. Once Sam had finally gotten Dean to pull into a motel, he could feel the ignored weariness creeping in at the prospect of a bed. The thought was far away.

Pulling the trunk open, he carefully checked the backseat door, and quickly grabbed the duffle of nessesities, re-closing it. As far as Adam knew, Sam and Dean were simple mechanics taking him to his Dad who lived out of town. As far as Dean was conserned, he'd keep the kid out of anything hunting based as long as he possibly could. He wasn't going to jeopardize that with a simple slip up of Adam noticing the satanic weaponry stashed in the back of the car. Or the guns.

Sam stepped out first with his laptop, and then Adam, dragging the backpack he'd been carrying along behind him. Dean only gave Sam a quick glance, and all the information they needed was passed. With that he handed the duffle bag over to his brother, and entered the motel's small and musty check-in room.

The lady at the desk was jotting something down in a notebook, and glanced up with slight surprise as she heard the door's jingle. She was cute. Dean didn't fail to notice. He was, however, not in the mood. Also unusually. Luckily she wasn't passing any suggestive vibes herself. In fact, she seemed a bit on edge.

"How are you?" She asked, in a rehearsed sort of way.

Dean, pulling the fake credit card that he'd shoved into his leather jacket's pocket, slid it across the counter. "Good. You got rooms with three beds in this place?"

She gave him an incredulous look, before glancing out the glass door to see Sam and Adam waiting against the car. Then back down at her notepad she took a second to think about it, as if trying to remember. "No...no, we've got two queen beds. And a couch."

It'd work. "That'll work." Dean said, and watched her accept the credit card, sliding it across the cash register. She seemed to be deep in thought while doing this, but surprised Dean slightly when she spoke, "I would ask if you guys were college buddies, but it looks like you've got a teenager with you."

Dean glanced behind himself for a moment, wavering on Sam's impatient look as he'd placed the duffle on the front hood of the Impala. "Uh...they're my brothers." He responded.

The lady nodded, handing the credit card back to Dean and turning to the wall behind her which carried the keys to every room. She stopped on room 233, turning back around to hand it to Dean. "Family weekend?" She questioned.

Dean couldn't help but snort slightly, and as he accepted the room key replied, "Sure."


	3. Chapter 3

The motel room door opened, small and cheap looking. The walls were this old washed-out sort of pattern, floor wooden and scratched up, though someone had attempted to cover it up with an ugly rug. The lighting was no better than other places, florencent and hard to sleep under.

It was layed out like most motel rooms Sam and Dean crashed in. Couch next to the door, sliding curtains, two queen sized beds, a small box-set tv. The bonus was the microwave and empty fridge, along with the small sqaure table which possessed four chairs. The bathroom, a door to the left besides the couch, had a toilet, a sink, and a shoved in bathtub plus shower that looked like a tight fit.

"I'll take the couch." Dean said. It didn't look like anyone was going to complain. Adam began setting his backpack on the bed nearest the door, but Dean stopped him for a moment. "Not that one." Adam froze in his tracks to look at Dean, as the oldest Winchester pointed towards the second bed, nearest the small kitchen.

It was Dean's own paranoia about the front door that got him to always pick the bed closest to it. Therefore, if anyone were to burst through, Dean'd be the first to get the jump on them. Hopefully rendering Sammy safe. The idea of Sam being the one in that bed didn't sit quite well with Dean, but he knew Sam could defend himself. And it sat worse with Dean having Adam, a defenseless fifteen-year-old, being the one to take the first blow. He wouldn't be able to sleep on that. If anything Dean hoped from the couch he'd be able to spring up fast enough...not that anything would happen; but Dean liked to be prepared.

Adam gave Dean a long look, but before he knew it was dragging his feet over to the opposite bed anyways. Dean took a breath.

"What are we doing?" Sam whispered to Dean, quiet enough so that only he could catch it as Adam began unpacking his things.

Dean passed Sam a look and muttered back, "Maybe we can finally hit up Vegas. Always wanted to go there."

" _Dean_." Sam breathed.

Dean sighed, "I don't know." Truly, Dean was as lost as Sam in that moment. Abandoned by John. Left with another younger brother. "Maybe we could...drop the kid off at Bobby's. At least he'll be safe. Then we can get some real hunting done."

Sam spared a long glance at the back of Adam's head, who was deaf to the conversation his new-found older brothers were having. "We can't just dump this on Bobby, too." Sam decided, "It's not fair."

"It's not fair to anyone." Dean seethed, a little louder than he'd meant. Adam's head twitched upwards slightly, catching wind of the words as Dean quickly lowered his tone. "There's nothing else we can do."

"Yes there is." Sam replied, "We can find Dad."

Dean kept his words steady. "We tried that, Sam. He's on a dangerous hunt right now. He needs to be focused. We'd just get in the way."

Sam had just opened his mouth to respond when the voice of Adam cut in, "The bathroom's lock is broken."

To distracted by their own conversation, inevitably leading to another argument, neither Sam nor Dean had noticed that Adam had grabbed the clothes he'd be sleeping in, and now stood under the bathroom's door frame.

There was a beat of silence, before Sam replied loosely, "It's alright, we know your in there."

With that Adam closed the door, the hinges clicking shut behind him.

Sam turned back to Dean, giving him another look. The "we'll talk later" look. One that Dean knew he meant this time. There was no way Sam would leave this up to brew for too long, even if Dean wanted to toss the kid to Bobby and be done with it. That wasn't possible, though.

Because everything was always Dean's responsibility.

It was twenty minutes later that Adam exited the bathroom. Sam sitting on his bed with his laptop resting on his lap. Dean taking up the couch, head on either armrest as he distractedly flipped through a magazine he'd grabbed from the last store they'd stopped at.

Dean glanced up as the door was pushed open, Sam as well, though they only stared for a moment before Adam awkwardly trudged over to the motel bed he'd claimed. His sleep wear was nothing special. Baggy cloth pants and a worn Metallica shirt, the logo horribly faded. An interest Dean would have loved Sam to have at his age. He kept his frown as he noticed the newly red and puffy eyes, but said nothing.

Dean glanced back down at the magazine in between his fingers, as Adam pulled up the covers, just enough so that he could crawl in, before turning on his side, facing away from Sam.

Following this Sam closed his laptop and reached for the lamp in between their beds, turning the light off. The motel room fell dark.

* * *

Adam Milligan felt his breath hitch as his fingers tightened around the bathroom's sink.

The door wouldn't lock. So he couldn't break down. He wouldn't. Not here. Not now. This was the worst moment. The worst possible moment.

He hadn't cried yet. Maybe because the situation hadn't fully sunk in. Or the impending thought of never seeing his mother ever again quickly pushed away by denial. Whichever it may be, it'd caught up. And the lump was beginning to build in his throat.

His mom was gone. She was gone. His mom was gone and he was all alone. Stuck in a motel room with two assholes who were supposed to be related to him, and yet had no idea what to do with him. A Dad, who he'd only met a couple of times throughout the years. Who he'd tried so desperately to impress. Joining baseball. Listening to classic rock. Showing an interest in fishing. Who wasn't even here when Adam needed him the most.

In the midst of all this balled up anger, and resentment, and fury, he just wanted to _cry_. Not punch a wall, or break a window. Adam wanted to cry. And he hated himself for it.

The doctors thought Adam didn't know how his mom truly died. He does.

He'd been at camp when it'd happened. Baseball camp. One he begged his mom to sign him up for because he wanted to get a better curve ball before his birthday came along when Dad'd said he'd be around next.

First she'd just gone missing for a couple days. After she began missing shifts, the Hospital got worried. Adam was sat down by a camp counselor to explain the situation, and later had been picked up by his neighbor Mr. Abbinanti, who used to drive him home from school when his mother was busy and he was too young to walk.

There were a couple days of radio silence after that. Adam had collected his stuff, and was stuck with Mr. Abbinanti. The man, around 45 with a step-daughter and wife of his own, wasn't that bad at all. Although his house smelled like walnuts, and Adam had been ready to take off with his mom again. He hadn't thought she could ever be— _dead_. At least not at the time. It was like waiting to be picked up from some extended sleepover, or something. Expecting her to walk through the door at any moment.

She didn't. A week after that she was found drained beyond recognition and gutted, in a tombstone. Adam knew this because he'd overheard Mr. Abbinanti explaining it all to his wife. That night Adam had thrown up his dinner, and the next cold morning he was picked up by the CPS.

He was taken to an office building, into a quite room where a man who was trying hard to connect with Adam's loss explained the situation.

Adam didn't say anything until foster care was brought up. His father. He gave them his father's phone number, the one he'd gotten from his mother, with a sliver of lost hope he'd be taken to someone who he could trust. Someone who'd wrap there arms around him and say, "It's going to be alright, son." Even if it wasn't.

But here he was. Not with his mother, or father. Not even with Mr. Abbinanti, or the solemn agents of the CPS. Here he was, with these strangers.

And Adam wanted to cry.

The lump, now a tightly packed ball stuck in his throat, was loosening. Adam's eyes now feeling the new pressure of liquid dying to be released. His tongue, pressed tightly against his teeth as they stayed gritted together.

He stared hard at his reflection, fingernails beginning to dig into the sink's plaster. His hair, his mouth, his nose, his cheeks, all beginning to look funny as his vision began to blur into a mix of speckled colors.

Regret. Fear. Anger. Sadness. It all bubbled up as the newly formed tears that now brimmed his eyelids threatened to spill. And as the words _why now_ rolled passed his mind, the first silent drop rolled down his cheek.

More tears began to spill as a high pitched sound began to build at the back of his throat. One that didn't get passed Adam's mouth as he quickly bit down on his tongue. Face, contorted, he allowed more tears to run down his face. From his teeth he tasted blood.

He wasn't sure how long this went on. It felt like hours. And at the point of sobering, his weariness reached another level. His throat hurt, despite not making a sound. Even though he ran a towel over his face more than once, he still appeared red and puffy, eyes no better.

His chest welled up again, but he stopped himself, leading a shaky breath that barley calmed any sort of nerve. For the first time since third grade he wanted to unironically scream for his mom. But he didn't.

Instead he pushed out of the bathroom. And though he knew Sam and Dean were staring at him, he swallowed anything left and went straight for the bed, pulling himself into the covers.

Staring intently at a tile wall, a couple papers rustled. Then the light was flicked off. Adam closed his eyes.

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ Hope this chapter isn't too short for you guys, I'm a bit busy at the moment, but the next one is planned to be much longer. Will definitely be updating this as soon as my time allows.

Thanks to everyone who has been reading, commenting, and following this story. You don't know how much it means to me, truly. Again, thanks for reading, new comers and old. Hope you enjoyed.


	4. Chapter 4

" _Adam_?"

 _Adam glanced up, delirious, gaze landing on a familiar face. One he never thought he'd see again._

 _His mother, beautiful and glowing. Her mouth spread into a wide smile as soon as their eyes met. Her hair, glimmering in the lighting, which appeared to be shown down by God. A bright blonde, one that matched Adam's perfectly._

" _Mom?_ " _He questioned in a hushed sort of voice. Then, again, slightly louder,_ " _Mom..._ "

 _Kate Milligan opened her arms, radiating warmth. She didn't have to say anything more. The implication was clear, but even if it hadn't been, Adam couldn't contain himself any longer. Rushing forward, he wrapped his arms around her and closed his eyes tightly. Comfort. Pure comfort._

 _Angels sang as she spoke near his ear_ , " _I've missed you. So much." Holding him nearer, stroking his back in a motion that brought him to memories of his younger self falling asleep across his mother's lap on their Friday movie nights._

 _Adam had no words. Eyes still shut tightly as his heart made a rhythmic beat, he felt the room swirl. The warmth strengthen. The good memories come back. He felt his fingers loosen their previous tightly gripped fists, as if melting into his mother's arms more. His mind and body falling into sinc as the words to a lullaby he hadn't heard since he was five rang. He felt okay_.

 _Then it was all gone._

 _Like she'd never been there, the room was cold. Freezing, in fact. And now, with nothing to catch him, Adam stumbled forward. He was simply grasping at air._

 _The room was black. Adam felt groggy. Anything good that used to surround him had been stripped away in one swift motion. He didn't know where he was. He didn't remember why he was there._

 _Just when he thought he was all alone something began to form in front of him._

 _Once again his mother, but different than what he'd seen before. There was no bright light. No warmth. No loving connection._

 _Her face, nearly unrecognizable, hung slightly loose in a gory shadow. Bloody and pale. Eyes dead and glazed over. Her clothing was ripped to shreds, body horribly thin, arms and legs bruised with chunks of uneven flesh missing. Looking as if she was about to faint, she somehow remained standing. And in the unflattering shadow stared hard at Adam._

 _He tried to move, but he couldn't. Like millions of boney hands were pulling his feet right onto the ground, he didn't budge. Legs unbendable, chest pounding._

 _He tried to scream, but he couldn't. Like his mouth was sewn shut, vocal cords locked away somewhere far, nothing came out but a strained gasp._

 _As he closed his eyes tighter and tighter, shaking his head, trying to get away from the putrid image, it became clearer. Like the more the darkness filled the room the more this thing thrived. Unable to get out of his mind. His arms locked. His chest hurt. His head pounded. The back of his neck creased._

And Adam's eyes shot open.

Jolting straight up on the motel bed, chest heaving, Adam was now aware that he'd just experienced a dream. But that didn't stop the frantic look that passed his face, maybe just for a moment, as he slowly reminded himself where he actually was.

Grip tightening on the sheets, he glanced across the room that he'd fallen asleep in. It was brighter than last night, due to the open window which allowed the morning rays to flood in. The bathroom door was left unhinged, a towel scattered across the ground; and the bed next to Adam's was empty, leaving Sam to be found sitting at the kitchen table, using his laptop intently.

Though as soon as Adam had shot upwards, Sam's eyes fell to him. His face dawned on sudden worry, or something close enough to it. "You okay?"

Ignoring Sam, Adam focused on getting his uneven breaths under control. Adam himself still hadn't fully processed the word _brother,_ especially when looking at two guys who he'd never seen before yesterday. Sure, he'd wanted a sibling somtimes back when his mom was alive. Being an only child, especially with his mother working such long hours, he spent a lot of time alone. But this was different. It wasn't like how Adam expected it to feel.

Back then, when he'd think about having a younger brother, it was always fun stuff. They'd join the same baseball team, and Adam would take him under his wing. They'd share the same room and stay up late playing video games. Eat junk food when mom wasn't home, wrestle on the front lawn, ride their bikes to school. He wouldn't be alone anymore on the long night shifts.

He always thought if he ever got a brother, like he'd so despretly wanted, he'd be estatic.

But Adam wasn't.

The initial shock was there. In learning about their existence, he couldn't help but admit he'd felt a ray of hope. Small, but present. Standing in the cold CPS building, clutching his backpack, it'd passed his mind. His mother was gone. His father was off the radar. But he had _brothers_.

It'd only lasted a second. After that the gut wrenching feeling had twisted its way back into his stomach. All he wanted was his mom back. He knew that now more than ever. These aren't his brothers. Adam doesn't even know these people; and he'd trade anyone to see his mom again.

Carefully, Adam opened and closed his right fist. Then in a controlled, but shaky, sort of motion ran his fingers through the sweaty strands of his hair. that stuck up from the contact With that he kept his gaze steady, eyes trained on the small framed photo of a little cottage house sitting on a hill. It looked sentimental, like something you'd see on your Grandma's wall. Making Adam squint to catch the small details that aligned the house's vast garden.

"Adam?" Sam asked again slowly, having not received an anwser to his first question.

Adam's eyes moved to face Sam, noting his close examination of Adam's face. Taking a second to swallow, Adam responded in an attempt to change the subject, "Where's Dean?" Trying as hard as he could to sound non-chalanent, even bored. It came off too scratchy for either.

Sam looked skeptical, raising an eyebrow only an inch. He seeemd at inner-conflict, debating on whether he should pressure the response he wanted to get, or play along with Adam's avoidance. To Adam's relief, he went with the latter. "Went out to grab some breakfest. He'll be back soon."

There was still a hint of hidden concern. Even Adam caught it, though it went ignored. Sam having responded to a question Adam really didn't care about, Adam felt his eyes purposefully shift torwards the window, avoiding eye contact once again. They sat in silence longer than they should have.

"Look—" Sam began, setting the phone that he'd previously held in his hand next to the open laptop. Adam could feel his doey eyes piercing into the side of his head. He wished they'd stop. But even though it seemed like Sam was preparing a long speech in his head, he couldn't exactly form the words together coherently. So instead, he said, "Sorry."

His gaze travled back to Sam in slight confusion. "Why?"

Sam looked back down at his laptop, then the cellphone, and frowned. "I don't know." He had more to say, but that's where they stopped.

Or at least Adam thought he'd stop. A minute after he assumed the conversation was over, he'd swung his cold feet over the side of the bed. Only for Sam to start up again, Adam quickly realizing he wasn't one to let things go. "For this crappy motel." Sam elaborated whole heartedly, forcing Adam to look up. "And the car ride. And the diner." Adam shifted a bit, as Sam cleared his throat. "I'm sorry for who your Dad is. I wouldn't...want it for anyone else. And what happened to your..." _Mom._

He didn't have to finish the sentence for Adam to quickly fill in the blank, head hanging low. But it didn't last long. Because as the obvious pity he could feel radiating off of Sam got to him, he felt his stomach bubble a little. "Yeah, well, I'm over it." He muttered with contained heat, glancing to the side.

Sam gave him a soft stare. He tempted, "You don't have to be."

"Well I am!" Adam shouted, feeling the heat rush forth from a pain inducing nightmare to rage as he shoved himself off the bed. "So lay off, will you?!" He wasn't mad at Sam. Not really. But the unwavering fact was that Adam had nothing but anger to defend himself with. His acclaimed brother attempting to prod into his mind was worse than the thought of him actually knowing how _fucked up_ Adam was over all of this. Or maybe he just hated the thought of people trying to play therapist.

Sam didn't flinch, but his eyes shifted a bit. Adam couldn't make out his thoughts. He didn't have a chance to, either.

In that second Dean pushed open the motel room door, two brown bags of deep fried "breakfest" in his hand. "S—" Dean stopped himself quickly, eyes catching the tone of the scene he'd walked in on. He couldn't have known what was said, but he did see Adam standing in anger, directed torwards Sam, with his fists tightened.

"I miss something?" Dean questioned slowly, words seemingly trying to stay as light as possible. It wasn't a joke, but somehow he made it seem like it'd attempted to be one.

Adam barred his jaw, pushing torwards the bathroom and slamming it shut. The only privacy he'd get in awhile. It made a much louder sound then he'd expected. He tried not to care.

* * *

"The hell was that?" Dean questioned, dropping the food onto the kitchen table in front of Sam's open laptop.

Sam gave Dean a long look at his half-baked tone, which expressed his emotions almost instantly. It was the type of look that said, _not the time for your shit._

Not many people could read this look well. Jess could, but he never used it on her. It was more of a hidden emotion he expressed when annoyed at others, which she always said she could see every time his eyebrows would crease in a certain way. What that meant to her was, it's time for them to leave.

Dean could unsurprisingly read it too, though unlike Jess, he wasn't the best at helpfully ridding Sam of the look. Shown by his frowned reply, "Jesus, alright. Just thought the cat fight you guys were breaking out was important." In saying this he'd dug out his meal from the bag, and plopped down onto the chair across from Sam.

Sam sighed in frustration, eyes unable to stop themselves from grazing past the closed bathroom door. He knew Adam was in pain. He didn't need much evidence to prove it. The kid's mother had just died, and John isn't even here. How could he not be? But the thought of connecting with him at all seemed like a task too far to grasp.

He wasn't sure if Dean felt this way. As long as Sam could remember they'd been close. Dean can be overbearing at times, but Sam has known for years that's just simply his nature. If not his nature than the screwed up situation John Winchester threw them both into. And he accepted it for what it was.

Still, he tried to understand that, and continuously failed. The pure dedication Dean had to one thing in his life. His car, for one. More importantly, family. No one was really asking him for that anymore. John was definitely capable of handling himself, Dean looked up to him like a God. And even _John_ knew Sam was capable of handling himself as well, but Dean just couldn't push himself out of that role. Not that he'd admit that to Sam...or anyone, for the matter.

Sam was that what he was feeling, the urge that it was his place to knock on the bathroom door and make sure Adam was alright, was something that Dean'd dealt with his whole life. It wasn't synced yet, but Sam could feel it getting deeper. Especially as the kid had shot awake from a nightmare, breathing heavily with a desperate fear in his eyes.

And Dean probably felt it too. Or would. It'd most likely take him a moment. He was too caught up in their father's participation in all this. Which was funny, as Sam began to pick up how 'like Dean' Adam was.

"His mom just died, and we have no idea where Dad is." Sam spoke after a second, breaking his long look at the bathroom door. "He says he's _fine_."

Without Sam noticing, Dean'd already began to eat. Sam couldn't help but wonder what his motivation was for grabbing 'breakfast burgers'. He was more inclined to have a coffee anyways.

As Dean took a bite and listened to Sam's comment, he snorted slightly. "That's what this fight was about?" He questioned, swallowing. "Look Sam, he's a teenage kid. Of course he's gonna say that. Not everyone was a girl like you growing up."

Sam glared his way, opening his mouth to respond before he found himself being cut off by Dean. Though his words were now dry of humor, as the vigor turned serious. "Leave it, alright?" The words died in Sam's throat.

Silence fell upon them as Dean's eyes grazed across another newspaper. He was desperate for a hunt. Sam could tell solely by his eyes, even his somewhat tense shoulders. But he played it off as relaxed as possible.

It was a moment later when Sam decided to break the quiet, "So I was thinking-"

"Never a good thing." Dean mumbled, half-heartedly.

Sam ignored it, continuing, "We're not going to Bobby's."

Dean looked up, slightly surprised. "We're not?"

"No." Sam began, knowing the reaction he'd get once he began, but only caring to get his point across to Dean. He continued slowly, "We're going to California." Dean's face didn't waver. "Dad called from a pay phone. Sacramento area code." In saying this he pulled out the cell phone in which John had contacted them, sliding it across the table.

"Sam—" Dean began, voice echoing his thoughts about Sam tracing their Dad's call. But Sam didn't let him finish.

"Dean, Dad's closing in on this demon. I mean it killed Mom and Jess. We've got to be there." Dean seemed almost exasperated, as Sam quickly continued, "And maybe it might get Adam some closure, right? Seeing Dad? Getting him some actual answers!"

Dean scoffed, "This isn't Oprah Sammy, we're not here to patch up our family." It was Sam's turn to scoff. "Dad said keep Adam safe, so that's what I'm gonna do. We're not running off to find him just because you _directly_ ignored his orders and traced the call."

"We have a right to be there Dean." Sam said, finding himself standing now as he pointed at his chest. "You do, I do, and so does Adam. No matter what."

"He doesn't even know what's going on." Dean replied, talking on terms of Adam. "Matter of fact, neither do we. We don't know what Dad's getting into. He's been tracking his thing for years. Showing up now could get us, him, Adam _killed_. It could blow the whole case."

Sam barred his jaw. His breathing was heavy, face raw. He didn't have anything else to say. He just started to move. Breaking eye contact with Dean, Sam grabbed his laptop and began making his way over to the motel bed where he'd slept. From there he shoved it into his duffle bag, followed by the few clothes he had.

Dean started to stop him, attempting to take the duffle bag from Sam, but it was no use. Sam yanked it out of his hands, shoving it over his shoulder.

"Seriously?" Dean questioned, unsure of what to do. His voice still tinged on anger, but there was an undertone as well. A slight fear of Sam walking out on him again.

Sam glanced back at Dean, but didn't say anything. Adam was standing near the bathroom doorway. He'd probably exited once the argument had excolated to a level of concern. His face filled with slight confusion, he glanced back and forth from Sam to Dean. Then, he was starring at the duffle bag, which Sam weilded. For a second Sam wondered how much he had heard.

Taking a step forward, Sam placed a hand on Adam's shoulder. A hand which wasn't shoved off, to his surprise. "I'm not ditching you, alright?"

With that he turned on his heel and headed for the motel door.

"Where are you going?" Dean questioned at his back, out of alternative options.

"To get some answers." He responded, and the door slammed shut behind him.

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ First off all, response to this story has been phenomenal. You don't know how much the comments mean to me, I love to read them. Thanks for all the follows and favorites, motivates me to continue when I know people are reading. (And I will definitely try and get chapter 5 out sooner rather than later.)

In terms of this chapter, I am still...iffy about it. I've editted it over and over, and I don't know what it is. I hope it doesn't feel too rushed (or prehaps like Sam is leaving too soon.) Right now we'd be on the episode "Scarecrow", so (if you recall) Sam tracks the phone call from John and leaves Dean to go to California. That's where he meets Meg. To explain myself, I do think Sam feels a dedication to Adam (even so soon), but I also feel like he'd be more motivated to find Dad in the moment and avenge Jess. (Also Sammy will be back soon, so don't worry.)

I may tweek this particular chapter in the future, maybe once I get to a certain amount of chapters (or hopefully finish the book) I'll do a mega edit; but I think I'm mildly alright with what I ended up with.

Seeya.


	5. Chapter 5

Sam Winchester stared hard at his fingers gripping the worn duffel bag. The thing'd been with him everywhere, since he was twelve. Bobby'd shoved it at John when he decided Sam was too old to be fitting his clothes into Dean's stuff. John, begrudingly, had then handed it to Sam (even though Sam hadn't pocessed much of anything in the first place.) Since then it'd been his. Dragged from town to town. School to school. Hunt to hunt. He'd taken it with him to college, and it'd been the first thing he grabbed after Dean showed up again. Holed and worn. Jess had wanted to get him a new one. He'd chucked it into a closet assuming he'd never see it again. Yet here he was, lugging it with him down the highway. _And just like the family business, it won't go away._

Bitterly, he picked up his gaze, continuing down the road. He'd only gotten a couple miles from the hotel, but the longer he walked the more deserted his surroundings seemed to get. Luckily the motel happened to be on the edge of town, and if he could catch a ride with someone he'd easily be able to get to the next town over and grab a bus down to the closest airport. The sun, now high in the sky, beat down on him. He kept moving.

His thoughts drifted to the night he told John about getting accepted into Stanford. Their shouting match was the worst one that'd ever exploded between the Winchester men. Which was saying something, considering since Sam had formed critical thought him and his father had been constantly at each other's throats.

That day he'd left the motel room a free man, no more expectations staring down his neck. He could go to college. Be a lawyer. Help people in his own way. That's what he'd wanted to do. _Help people in his own way_. If John'd just understand. If he'd hear Sam. Stop for a moment and just _listen,_ maybe he'd come to accept what Sam wanted. Maybe. Not that Sam had high hopes for that.

He thought about Dean. He could've sworn Dean'd wanted to be pissed at him that night, but he couldn't do it. The more he thought about the fact that Sam (the fucking geek he is) got excepted into _Stanford,_ the less he was able to stop the proud look from glinting his eyes. That'd been one of the few times in his life that Dean had stood up to John Winchester. If it wasn't for Dean, Sam doubted he'd have made it out the door.

Dean had been annoyed. More so about Sam keeping it from him. "Dad is Dad. I get that." He'd said, "But _me_?" Dean had been happy for him, Sam knew that; but Dean also wasn't the best at hiding things from Sam. He probably couldn't think of anything worse than Sam taking off, the kid who he practically raised. He probably never thought the day would come...or at least hoped it wouldn't. It didn't matter that night. It was likely Dean probably kicked himself later for letting Sam get on the bus. Drunk himself unconscious, possibly. Though, at that second, he just focused on holding back tears which didn't fall in front of his brother. He'd made a stupid joke and said goodbye in a way that made it seem like he'd see Sam tomorrow; even though they wouldn't talk for another four years. Then Sam'd left.

Adam. Sam thought about Adam. Jesus, what was wrong with John Winchester? Just thinking about the kid reloaded all his previous anger, which had washed away a mile ago, like a deadly gun. His puffy red eyes when he'd exited the bathroom. His face when he'd shot up from his nightmare. Looking up at Sam, confused, as he grabbed his duffel bag and ditched the motel room. Sam knew Dean'd take good care of him. How couldn't he? It'd been hardwired into his brain since age four. But for a second he considered going back. Taking Adam with him. Maybe that wasn't such a good idea. What John was up to _was_ dangerous.

But what if Dean just left him at Bobby's like he said he would? What would happen to Adam then? Sam doubted Dean would tell him about hunting. Adam would think Dean'd left him with a psycho hoarder, Satan worshiper. He'd call the Child Services lady who'd given him her phone number, scared out of his wits. Maybe he'd actually run into a monster, being John Winchester's kid, and have no idea how to defend himself. Sam hadn't thought about springing anything on the kid so soon, but now that he layed it out in his head...

How long would it take for him to find Dad? Sam knew the man well enough, but he was an expert at covering his tracks. Maybe-

"Hey." Sam was ripped out of his internal monologue by a pretty girl sitting on a suitcase. She had short cut bleached blonde hair, the type that you get because your Dad told you not to. Her eyes were a cold sort of dark brown that glinted knowingly up at him in a _I know something you don't_ , sort of way. She tugged an earbud out of her ear with the faintest reflection of a smirk on her face.

In a different world, sitting at a bar next to a girl like this, Sam might of been enthralled into pleasant conversation. (While Dean grinned wildly on the other side of the resturaunt pretending he hadn't been looking.) But she was sitting on the side of the road, and this wasn't a different world.

Despite himself, Sam questioned slowly, "Are you alright?"

The girl laughed, seemingly amused. She stood in a gracefully movement and shoved the iPod into her leather jacket. With a once-over of Sam she responded, "I should be asking you that. You're the one wandering down the side of the road like the world's about to end."

Sam returned a bit of a grin, "I didn't think I looked that bad."

The girl shrugged effortlessly, still showing the ghost of a smile. Sam felt the previous overload of thoughts fade into background noise. He wasn't going to let them get in his way. He'd catch a ride, get on a bus to California, and find Dad. One step at a time. And thinking that kind of felt good. With a rock of weight lifted off his shoulders, Sam began, "So, where are you headed?"

He felt okay, for a start.

* * *

"Whoa, what the hell are you doing?!" Dean questioned, annoyance seeping into his voice too easily.

Adam glanced up at him, eyes flashing a nervousness you only got when you were scared of a person. Though the look was quickly buried into anger at Dean for getting upset at him _again_. He spoke in a defiant tone, eyes a bit too fiery, "You told me to push the gas, I'm pushing the gas!"

"No, no!" Dean groaned, shoving Adam back into the passengers seat, "Stop, you'll break the pedal."

Adam's head shoved itself back against the leather seat, arms crossed tightly as he glared daggers at the scene in front of him. Dean himself was fuming just thinking about the wires that might've snapped from Adam's foot slamming into them that hard. He swiftly examined the space under the steering wheel like he was fussing over an injured kid. "I told you to _push_ the gas," Dean continued in a low growl, "Not floor it."

Adam muttered something under his breath that was too quiet for Dean to hear. He could only guess what was said, most likely out of distaste for himself. He decided it'd be best not to ask.

Concluding the pedal undamaged, Dean got into the driver's seat and pressed it himself. Adam's eyes were trained on him, waiting to see what reaction they'd get. There was a churning sound, following by a slight rev of the engine. Dean felt a smirk make its way across his lips as his baby began to purr. "That's-"

He didn't get a chance to finish the thought before his engine burst into smoke. Adam looked a little too smug, like he had predicted that would happen. But in whatever morsal of intimidation he'd developed from Dean, fought back his humorous expression and wisely held his tongue. Dean sighed loudly getting out of the car.

He was pissed at Sam. He was pissed at Dad. They both wanted this retribution for their lost loves and Dean was just the Winchester standing in their way. _Hey Dean, me and Sammy are about to gank that son of a bitch who killed Mom and Jess. You can't be here right now, but make sure to watch my other child Adam. By the way, sorry I didn't tell you about that sooner._ Right. Sure, Dad. Whatever you need.

Didn't they know he wanted this too? Didn't they realize he had just as much passion to kill this thing as they did? Of course he would. It had been his mother. The anger still flared in his stomach thinking about the son of a bitch, recalling the night he'd carried Sam out of the fire.

But even as he thought it in his head, convincing himself his priorities were the same, something didn't sit right in the pit of his stomach. If he _really_ wanted to kill this thing that badly, why hadn't he followed Sam out the door to finally find Dad? That's why they were on the road in the first place. What had stopped him?

He knew the answer, obviously. Dad has given him an order. Sammy had always been too stubborn for his own good. He might has well walked out the second Dad had called them, because no matter what the man said over the phone there was no way Sam wouldn't attempt to reject it. Dean truly just wanted to keep him and Dad from tearing each other to peices. He just wanted to keep the family together.

He cleared his head, pulling open Baby's front hood. A cloud of hot engine smoke blasted his face, causing an accidental inhale as Dean coughed over his shoulder.

He was twenty-six. He should be at a bar right now with a couple childhood friends he never had but always wanted. Scouting out chicks for the night and laughing at each others drunkeness.

Not that he was pitying himself. Dean wasn't one for that. He knew why Dad had raised him like he did. He liked saving people. If not, he'd just be...well, another useless civilian, high school drop out. No. But a beer didn't sound bad. Getting out of the cold night...

Adam stepped out of the car with his arms pressed tightly to his chest. It looked like he'd gotten rid of the amused expression for a graver one. He quietly stared at the damage while Dean ran his eyes across it in examination. He had the type of face that seemed to assume Dean didn't realize Adam was looking, even though he knew he was.

Dean frowned deeply. The Impala hadn't broken down like this since...well, since Dean could remember, never. Not unless the girl had taken a hit, which maybe happened once or twice; but with Bobby's help she'd been fixed up brand new.

"How are we going to get to...uh.." Adam surprised Dean with the initiation of a conversation, but seemed to have to think about the name for a moment, "Bobby's."

Dean didn't take his eyes off the damage, attempting to figure a main source. John had taught him all he knew about cars. By ten he could re-essemble an engine out of Bobby's spare parts. There was no way he couldn't fix this. "The car."

Adam made a face, "You do realize that-"

"I think I know we're not going anywhere right now." Dean cut him off, ripping his eyes away to glare at the boy. Adam's blonde hair was messy and uncombed. He wore his only other set of clothes, old jeans and a black Led Zepplin _Fallen Angel_ t-shirt. "Why don't you wait in the car. It shouldn't take more than a couple hours."

Reaching for his toolbox which Dean had already pulled out earlier, he sifted through the bolts and screwdrivers in search of his needed tool. Meanwhile Adam (unsurprisingly) only seemed to hear Dean's last statement. "A _couple hours_?" He questioned.

Dean rolled his eyes, "Yeah, so what?" He reached for a small wrench and leaned into the engine, "Sleep in the car." He could hear Adam's deep scowl, "Ah, not the five star hotel you were expecting?" The quip seemed to hit Adam harder than he'd intended it to, as he turned to see Adam's eyes had hardened a bit.

"I wasn't expecting anything." He grounded back.

Dean, unsure of how to respond, returned to his work. The sooner he got this finished the sooner they'd be at Bobby's. All's well that ends well. He expected Adam to head back into the car himself, but instead he continued a couple minutes later, "We should've gone with Sam." He paused, "To get Dad, I mean."

Dean felt his lips tug downward, more than annoyed with the mention of Sam. "You don't even know what you're talking about."

"Seriously," Adam urged, "He didn't show up to get me because of some stupid business trip. I'm told _you guys_ are supposed to be taking me to him, but apparently neither of you even know where he is. Until Sam finds out and is off to meet him and we don't even _go_?"

Dean shoves the wrench down, standing up straighter as he glowered at Adam. He made a note to keep his voice down in the future. Adam obviously paid more attention than he'd previously suspected. His voice was laced in a warning when he replied, "You _seriously_ don't know what you're talking about."

"Well, maybe if either of you would tell me anything, I would." Adam argued back, fists clenching.

Snorting, which caused Adam's face to reddin a bit, he continued on the car. "Just get back in the car, Adam."

He didn't see Adam turn around the storm into the woods, but he certainly heard the exaggerated foots steps on the gravel. Once again his eyes lifted and he felt a groan escape his mouth, "Where the hell are you going?" He questioned exasperated, as he watched the boy's back advance on the trees.

"I have to piss!" He shouted back, turning around wildly, "Can I do that, or are you going to pass me an empty beer can?"

Dean found himself quickly reminded why he was so annoyed. Though he still felt inclined to make sure Adam didn't go to far. He looked down at his watch. "Fine, just don't-" Adam had already disappeared behind the foliage.

Sighing, Dean went back to work.

* * *

Adam trudged through the muddy grass, trees closing in. He could already feel the wet dirt seeping into his sneakers.

It had been more than a couple hours since Sam had left, and the sky had darkened considerably. About a minute after he'd walked out of the motel room Dean had ordered Adam to grab his stuff. After that they were gone.

This time the ride wasn't as quiet as past ones. Adam himself had no complaint when Dean cranked the radio. It left less room for talking, and more for staring out the window in thought. Though he still had the sinking feeling Sam had left him with.

His last interaction with Sam verged on an argument, and still his heart sunk when the motel door had closed behind him. He inwardly wished Sam would've considered taking him. He wondered why neither him or Dean _weren't_ going to find Dad. Not that he cared much what Dean happened to think. The asshole had his taste in music, and seemingly that was it.

Adam felt the sudden urge to run away now. Perhaps catch his own bus. Or...the number in his pocket. He could always call Ms. Flat Face of the CPS. They had only shoved him onto his brothers because his brothers were the ones who showed up. If he went back, and they got into contact with Dad..

It seemed like a better option then staying here with Dean, who outwardly showed no interest in getting to Dad. Only the motivation of his friend Bobby, who Adam suspected was the only one of them with an actual house.

Then again, did he really want to go back to Windom? Or the chance of a foster family?

He felt like he was in the dark about everything. Where his Dad was, where Sam was, where he was going, what Dean was trying to accomplish. As if he'd entered in the theater in the middle of a movie and no one would rewind. Whatever was going on, he was sick of being left out of it. Sick of being left to mull things over himself. _Overly_ sick of missing his mom.

Adam stopped walking. He'd gone further than intended, not that it mattered much. Dean had said a couple hours.

Closing in on a tree, he unzipped his jeans. What, you thought he'd been lying about having to pee? Seriously, the last time they'd stopped was at a drive through.

Doing his business, Adam watched a slug crawl up a piece of bark lazily. He vaguely wondered where the slug's family was, doubting it ever felt as unsure as Adam. The train of thought was stupid.

Re-zipping his pants, he prepared himself for the walk back to the highway...when he heard a rustling sound in the deeper forrest behind him. His heart picked up a bit.

Turning around, he prepared to see a squirrel burst out of the bushes. It didn't happen. In fact, nothing happened. The air seemed to get colder.

In an attempt to feel unfazed, he shoved his hands into his pockets and began the way he had came. Maybe his shoes walked a little quicker than his mind could register, but he wasn't fond of dark woods at night. Especially after...well, the never caught his mother's killer.

Adam felt a shiver run down his spin. The hell was he thinking about? He was freaking himself out for no reason. They'd already driven miles away. _Besides_ , it was just a rustling of the wind. And what would a serial killer want with a scrawny blonde haired teen?

This did not calm him down. In fact, the thoughts seemed to make his heart beat taster. He imagined his mom the night she died. He remembered his dream. Then, he wished he hadn't. He had a hard time clearing his head of the image.

His pace was just below running. The back of his head twitched. He could've sworn he caught sight of the Impala's car, when a voice caused him to freeze in his tracks.

It was melodic and soothing, yet somehow so utterly chilling. Familiar. Beautiful. Laced with a tinge of melancholy that could only be found from one person. It was the voice from his dream. The voice he grew up hearing every morning. The voice he so desperately missed.

The voice of his mother, and she said, " _Adam?_ " Just as she had in his imagination.

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ Thanks for all the support and reviews. Hope you all enjoyed the update. Sorry about the cliffy, we shall meet again with Chapter Six in less than a few weeks. (Pinky swear.)

Anyways, who else is ready for a shit load of Adam and Dean bonding? Also, Meg. So, say hi while she's around. Remember to review and follow if you haven't for updates. Love to read them.

Seeya.


	6. A Depressing Discontinuation

**A/N:** So...it's been awhile. Specifically (about) seventeen months, but whose keeping track? Well...I guess you guys are, because you've been waiting for an update. Guess I broke that pinky promise, huh?

So, first off my old phone kind of crashed, so I lost my whole pages document of future plot points and ideas (my mind was reeling). Even now I still can't remember what ideas I'd had lined up. After that I couldn't find the motivation to pick it up again, until I forgot about it. It wasn't until I came back to read Dirty Laundry (It's a Voltron thing...) that I felt extremely compelled to comment, and logged in. It was at this point I remembered I do in fact have un-finished stories. So, here I am. How have you guys been?

I know it sucks to wait for shit like this and I adore all of your guy's comments, so I don't want to be the one that makes you disappointed. Seriously. I've been on the end of waiting for a fanfic update that never comes... I don't want to be that guy. Really. I don't.

In all honesty, I don't even watch Supernatural anymore. When I made this story I barley watched it anymore. It just spiraled until I was thinking about the show less and less. I have zero idea what happens after Season 9. I took all my Supernatural posters down. I gave my sister all my t-shirts. Like, I don't even display my signed pictures anymore, (and yeah, I was that fan.) Supernatural is just not a fandom that will always stick with me, like (for example) Percy Jackson will, which are books so integral to my childhood that I still re-read them to this day. No...Supernatural was just a phase to me, and I think I've accepted that.

At this point this story was more of me holding onto past seasons, subsequently that entire section of my life where I was obsessed with the show. I feel kind of bad too because the continuing push for more content sort of shattered Eric Kirpke's original interpretation of the show. Like...Supernatural was supposed to end at Season Five, we all know this. There was the perfect ending, it brought all the plot points together in this large, chaotic finale, where the younger brother finally sacrifices himself and Dean gets the "Apple Pie" life. It wasn't a _great_ show, but you could look back on it and say "good while it lasted", right? They had some bizarre executive decision where Eric left because, "that's the end of his show"; but the guys upstairs were still making a ton of money so (even if they barley had a plot to go off of) they just kept the thing going. Capitalism ruins everything.

Anyways, that's enough complaining. I'm just a Breaking Bad type of fan. It ends when it ends. It's good because it knew when to end. Another weird note: anyone notice both Breaking Bad and Bojack Horseman ended with songs about something blue? Like... "Baby Blue" and "Mr. Blue"? Perhaps that's a dumb comparison. Oh, and She-Ra: Princesses of Power. I finished the final season yesterday and cried three times! It was great, I highly recommend.

At this point I'm just procrastinating posting this note. I guess if anybody wanted to continue this they can? I don't really know how that works, but if you wanted to take the entire concept of this story and just use it in another fanfic, go ahead, Adam needs more representation.

So, that's it. Sorry to be that guy, but this is my depressing discontinuation. Also, sorry if you saw this update notice and expected the long-awaited next chapter.

See ya.


End file.
